It’s close to 8pm on a cold and wet Tuesday night, and I’m sitting in the Saracens the players’ locker room. To my left, along the large dining room table, is the club’s new CEO, Ed Coetzee. Across from me, George Martin is slowly working the bread basket. Two seats to my right, Owen Farrell is having a private banter with fellow Northerner and Prem rugby record goalscorer, Chris Ashton.
We have eight empty wine glasses in front of us, with thin handles that reflect the bright light of the TNT cameras that circle around us. At the head of a long table packed with reporters, board members and players, stands Brendan Venter, holding court in a tight-fitting white T-shirt, waving his arms as he draws connections between his two favorite passions.
“Wine is very similar to rugby,” says Venter. “You can never beat wine. You can never fully understand wine.”
Tonight the head of culture and technical director of Saracens will try to pass on his knowledge as best he can. Over an evening that includes a pretty decent rib-eye steak and a sweet lemon dessert, he encourages us to sample eight hand-picked wines in a blind tasting, then share our thoughts.
As media events go, this is not the norm. It’s also a strange environment for a man whose relationship with the press has often been lukewarm. Venter has made it clear that he does not like routine media duties. So why is he refereeing in a dressing room full of journalists?
To understand the unusual nature of the evening, it helps to go back to December 2010. Saracens had just lost 25-23 to Leinster in the Heineken Cup and Venter criticized referee Christophe Berdos and was fined £25,000. A week later, Saracens lost 24-21 at home to Racing Métro 92. The defeat, which was sealed by a late try from Fijian winger Sireli Bobo, was their third in a row in the competition.
Asked by Sky’s Martin Gillingham whether Bobo’s attempt showed “a bit of genius”, Venter responded with a series of callous repetitions: “A bit of genius, a bit of magic, Sireli Bobo, very interesting, very good me. Three cheers for Sireli Bobo.” He agreed Saracens were happy with everything, admitted they didn’t win, then said they would have to “think very deeply” about how to improve.
Saracens have been fined by Prem Rugby for missing media appearances. Venter criticized the league’s approach as “autocratic”
A contemporary report states that the interview was apparently inspired by Mike Bassett’s satirical mockumentary: England The manager. Gillingham later told the Times: “If he had been intelligently difficult, he could have made me look very silly – and not just myself!”
Sixteen years later, circumstances have changed, but the friction has not. Venter returned to Saracens this season, initially appointed as director of rugby after Mark McCall resigned. Amid a dispute over his media duties, the club’s description of his role has changed. The “wine consultant” briefly became part of the story; Saracens later clarified that his official title was head of culture and technical director.
Saracens have been fined by Prem Rugby for missing media appearances. Venter criticized the league’s approach as “autocratic,” arguing that head coach Joe Shaw was a more helpful person speaking for the team.
At the dinner, Venter described the postgame media circuit as one of the things he learned to avoid. He calls such experiences “stealers of joy”; the things he enjoys are “joy givers.” “I do so little shit in my life. I don’t,” he said.
He said he once got angry with the press, but realized the hostility was getting to him and decided to step back. He compared the irritation to a taxi driver cutting him off on his morning school run in his native South Africa. It might be frustrating, but it’s not worth cursing drivers who were in a rush themselves. He also acknowledged that journalists have a job: “It’s your job to be curious and ask questions and find stories.”
Honesty sat oddly beside formal discussion. Venter was relaxed and in excellent company, he answered questions for a long time and in detail. This does not mean that he accepts every media obligation. But that complicates the idea that he simply rejects the press. He understands its function, though he objects to its form, frequency, or sense of compulsion. He told me that he knows his weaknesses and that he tries to remove himself from situations where he might “explode”. It was less a defense of his desired silence than an explanation of how he was doing.
Rugby competes for attention. Venter is one of the pieces that can make the game interesting beyond the score.
There is a practical counterargument. Elite sports broadcasting contracts come with media obligations. Access is part of a commercial arrangement between clubs, leagues and broadcasters. U On the Record & On the BallTim Percival, head of communications for the England men’s team, describes how “media engagement is mandated through participation agreements”, linking access to the broadcast deals that fund the match. It’s the social contract behind the post-match interview where the sport gets exposure and commercial value, while fans get access to the people who shape it.
There is also a case for coaches to do more than simply respect. Recalling his time with the Brumbies, Eddie Jones tells Percival that “part of the head coach’s job… is to sell the sport”. For rugby, which competes for attention, it matters. Venter is one of the pieces that can make the game interesting beyond the score.
But access isn’t valuable just because it’s mandatory. A rushed interview that produces nothing is different from a post-match chat that helps fans understand a decision or performance. The challenge is to make the exchange worthwhile without letting clubs or coaches decide what questions are acceptable.
Dinner could be read as a reset. Percival’s book argues the value of the coach-journalist relationship, including the possibility of a “switch” meeting when those relationships become strained. But a friendly evening cannot replace the less choreographed encounters that journalism depends on. Eight wines and a good steak make for a different conversation than the one after a loss, when the coach can be asked about a choice, a tactic or a wrong decision. Both settings can be revealing, even if neither warrants the other.
On the same day, the club’s relationship with journalists came to light. Saracens have released a board message defending Coetzee against a Times report which described the club in the grip of an “identity crisis” and “chaos at executive level”. The statement cited Coetzee’s recent achievements, reaffirmed the board’s confidence in him and appointed journalist Alex Lowe, saying it was a shame his “program” prevented him from writing a more balanced and informed article.
Venter is a curious figure in this landscape because he is both wary of the media and extremely good company in the right circumstances.
Saracens shared the message on X. The reaction was swift and critical. The central objection was hard to miss: a statement presented as a reassurance to supporters gave room for an attack on a named journalist. Rather than closing the story of unrest at the club, the board’s response created a new one about how Saracens are dealing with the scrutiny.
It parallels Venter, although the two episodes are not the same. He resists league requests for media access; the board decided to respond to the journalists’ reporting in public. In both cases, Saracens are negotiating who will determine the terms of his relationship with the press. The club can publish its own account directly, but cannot control how it is received by fans, journalists and critics.
Venter is a curious figure in this landscape because he is both wary of the media and extremely good company in the right circumstances. That contradiction makes him more interesting than a coach who offers a series of safe, polished answers. It also makes his absence more noticeable. He is not Saracens’ head coach, as he is quick to point out, but he is a highly technical figure with influence at the club. That makes rugby questions inevitable, even if he’d rather talk about life, culture and wine.
With dessert, the press event became exactly what makes Venter such a compelling subject: an occasion that’s hard to categorize and a conversation that refuses to follow the expected script. He may want to avoid a routine interview, but when he chooses to engage, he gives reporters and supporters something to crave. The question is whether rugby can make room for that kind of approach with a less comfortable one.
